This is what victory looks like.
Ever since I discovered Eric Nies and his impossibly chiseled abs on television as an 11-year-old, I knew that MTV was the place for childhood wonderment. The series he sometimes-hosted was called "The Grind," and while the show's set would probably now look like a scene from a sleezy Saturday night in Seaside (sorry, guys), I was young, sprite and believed the network to be the place where girls who'd just grown into their disproportionately large ears and nose could go and shimmy their hips while wearing denim mini skirts on the beach. MTV wasn't this abstract and intangible cable channel stationed in a faraway land manned by chocolate-covered gumdrops; rather, it was an actual person, place and thing (later when deciding to be a journalist I'd learn that this is also called a noun). I wanted to go to there.
So I did. For many moons, I scribbled posts about Hillzian-in-Chief Lauren Conrad and her rise to world domination (which also included the collapse of Spencer Pratt, who once threatened to investigate me over Twitter [it took me 20 minutes to find proof of this]), live-tweeted "Jersey Shore" episodes from the privacy of my Barbie-sized toilet and once believed that, after working into the wee hours of the night for the 2010 Video Music Awards and losing all sense of spatial direction, I'd certainly meet my fate if I ingested One. More. Energy Drink. (This single sip won't kill me, I'd say.)
But now it's my time to bow out from the magical world of Remote Control, led by a phenom once-named Control Freak (she dropped some letters and now goes by Lisa). Sadly, many of you won't care about my departure and I can't blame you--ever since this kid showed up he's put my writing chops to shame--but I'd feel remiss if I didn't explain why you'll see my name appear on the blog less frequently. That, friends, would just be bad Internet.
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